


Letters Lost in Time

by technocrusade



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Confusion, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diary/Journal, Established Relationship, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Hugs, Hurt Karl Jacobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Insanity, Insecurity, Internal Conflict, Karl Jacobs Needs a Hug, Karl Jacobs-centric, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Memory Loss, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Reincarnation, Running Away, Sad Alexis | Quackity, Sad Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Secrets, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travelling Karl Jacobs, Unreliable Narrator, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Web Series: Tales from the SMP, Worry, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technocrusade/pseuds/technocrusade
Summary: Maybe if I travel enough, I’ll be able to right some wrongs... Maybe do something to prevent all of the bad I keep seeing. I’m sure there’s something I can do. Tragedy always has a reason, and once I find the root of it I can cut it off from there.Maybe I’ll finally be useful for once.Karl writes, and writes and writes. He writes of his adventures, of his inner thoughts and his deepest fears. His diary is all he has, and this is what it contains.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity/Sapnap, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 68
Kudos: 207





	1. Diary Entry #1

Each time I travel, I remember less and less. I really need to start writing these as soon as I come back to the present day… I’m going to start keeping track of every time this happens. No matter how tired I may be, I need to write everything down immediately.

Something was definitely off about the future I’ve been shown. Too many inconsistencies, too many inaccuracies to the actual happenings so far. Something has definitely gone wrong, whether it be in the near future or in the generations of passing down knowledge. Someone could’ve interfered with written history as we know it, or the facts could’ve been lost to the test of time. Regardless, it’s my job to figure out why. I should record everything properly to ensure it gets passed on properly, and find out who would mess with the storyline of events.

… Then again, it’s not like I myself am doing any better. It started off rather small and dismissible; it was initially just a bunch of small details I kept forgetting. Times of scheduled meetings, whereabouts of lost items, minor inconveniences I could easily live through. However, it’s been getting worse and worse. Just the other day I forgot entirely what I was doing for a few minutes. I didn’t recognize anyone, didn’t know where I was. It was terrifying. I’m worried one day I’ll travel and not even remember who I am anymore. Maybe I should stop…

…

No.

No, I can’t stop. I have to keep doing my part. I have to keep going, I have to push through and do what I can.

As far as I know, I’m the only one with this kind of power. I’m the only one who can traverse the threads of time, who can pull at the strings and unravel the chain of events. I’m the only one who can see our future, who can do something about it. It only makes sense I take the burden upon myself. It only makes sense that I take the gift I’ve been given and use it for the greater good. If it’s something only I can do, then I must do it. I will not falter; I will not doubt my conviction when it comes to this. It’s only fair, after all.

Maybe if I travel enough, I’ll be able to right some wrongs... Maybe do something to prevent all of the bad I keep seeing. I’m sure there’s something I can do. Tragedy always has a reason, and once I find the root of it I can cut it off from there.

~~Maybe I’ll finally be useful for once.~~

…

I need to keep this quiet. I can’t tell anyone what happens or how I know these stories.

Who knows what they’ll do? They could restrain me, tie me up or even kill me. They could try their hardest to stop me. They could burn down my library, take away my books, rip apart my diary. I don’t know if they’ll truly understand what I’ve been doing, or my motivations for doing so. Even then, I can’t involve them in this. It might mess things up even further. Knowledge might change how they act, and therefore mess up the timelines I already am aware of. I can’t have anyone interfere and possibly jumble everything up. It would be devastating if I made progress only for it to all be for naught.

~~I’m scared.~~

No one. Not even Quackity and Sapnap. They’re my fiancés, yes, but it doesn’t mean I have to confide in them. Surely they’re busy. Surely they have better, more important things to do. Even if not, their assets would be far better used for something other than a flimsy and unpredictable endeavor. Quackity’s intelligence and Sapnap’s combat prowess will find better hands to be wielded by rather than my unsure own. It’s dangerous, it’s fleeting, it’s dubious. I can’t have them invest in something so uncertain.

Though it might do some good to go to them... If I can’t trust them, then I have no one else. Maybe I should just… No. I can’t.

I can’t keep relying on them like this. I can’t keep making them protect me from everything.

~~I can’t keep being useless.~~

I’m not strong. I’m not resilient. I’m weak, far too much so. I can still feel where Ranbob struck me down with his sword, I can still remember how powerless I was in that moment. I still wince from the phantom pains; I still tremble from the exertion of trying to run away. I will never be able to win in a swordfight, never be able to consistently hit bow shots, never be able to get back up from the ground I’ve been knocked down onto. But, at the very least, I can try to do my part to steer this world in the correct direction. At the very least, I can attempt to do something. I can try again, and again, and eventually one of those times will succeed. It has to, I’m sure of it.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl Jacobs

-

_He closes the book, shoving it into the chest in the corner and wiping off what he can of the ink stains that mark his hands. Grumbling, the ache in his shoulder only gets aggravated as he breaks through the wall of his library and squeezes out of the opening before moving to replace it. He really needed to make a better passageway, perhaps a hidden door or a loose panel. He can’t keep exerting himself every time he wants to get out of his secret room, especially if he keeps dying and if the pain keeps lingering even after he gets back. He dusts himself off and makes sure he’s presentable for the outside world before he steps out and locks the door behind him. He had to walk back home as soon as possible so he could rest._

_He runs into a familiar face on the streets just outside the building, soon finding lanky arms wrap around his frame in a tight hold and a face press itself into the crook of his neck. Hot breath heats up his skin, and he remembers just how cold the underwater city had been when he melts into the warm touch and buries his face into a soft mess of dark hair. He doesn’t know how long they remain standing there, but eventually they pull back and he feels his lips quick upwards almost instantly at the sight in front of him._

_Quackity’s smile had always been so contagious, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i wanted to try another format of writing, this time in the form of personal diary entries :DD i hope it turns out well
> 
> i have this all planned out already, i just need to actually write it. at the time of writing, the wild west episode is the most recent one. i implemented elements of canon, but i'm not quite sure if it'll remain canon compliant depending on the next lore streams. this is purely experimental, and also entirely self indulgent. it'll be chronological and most likely short, with an update every other day if i can manage.
> 
> i hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading :D


	2. Diary Entry #2

It hurts. Dying hurts.

It’s obvious, yes, but I feel like we underestimate it too much. Of course it physically hurts. Of course getting impaled on a sword hurts, of course having the blade twist inside your gut is agonizing. Of course falling to the ground with your life slipping out of you in the form of deep crimson blood is going to hurt at least a little bit. But what hurts more is the emptiness that comes after dying, the darkness and silence that comes after blacking out. The sheer solitude, the nothingness of it… it’s terrifying. Next time, I’ll have to make sure I won’t die. I don’t want to go through that every single time, I’d spiral into insanity.

~~Though, something tells me that’s already happening anyway.~~

Speaking of dying… I really didn’t expect the masquerade to go that way. It was, for lack of a better term, a total bloodbath. I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen that amount of death in such close and grisly detail before. Sure, I’ve been through several wars but I was never made to pause and investigate corpses. There was fighting to do, I didn’t have time to burn the image of people’s dead bodies in the back of my eyelids. Even if I had, there’s nothing that would merit me for doing it. I would already know they died in the crossfire. But for the masquerade… I had to do exactly that.

Drew and James, in particular… Their deaths were the hardest pills to swallow. I don’t know why, but I feel like I didn’t quite have enough time to process them. Drew died first, and any semblance of grief for his fate was buried by fear as we tried to survive the night. James died near last, and any hint of sorrow for his demise was washed away by suspicion as we tried to pinpoint who the murderer was. I would leave it at that, but I don’t get quite the same sinking feeling in my gut as when I think about Lord Sebastian, or Lady Lyaria, or anyone else really.

They’re oddly familiar. ~~They remind me too much of Quackity and Sapnap.~~ I feel like I’ve seen their faces around before, maybe in portraits that had made their way to modern times. ~~I feel like I see their faces whenever I wake up, the first things my eyes see in the morning always seem to be that sweet smile and relaxed expression.~~

…

I can’t dwell too much on them, no matter how much I really want to. There’s more important details at hand.

The most damning detail is the presence of the egg. It looks nearly identical to the one Sapnap had shown me just a while back, with its massive crimson shell and the snaking vines of vermilion protruding from it and crawling all over the surfaces in the immediate vicinity. It also seemingly has other similar properties, like it’s penchant for mind control and getting into people’s heads. When we were there, it had only been a few minutes and yet we were already inclined to start stealing. If that’s the extent and power of its influence, then it’s rather terrifying. No wonder Sir Billiam and his butler had been so unreasonable, had been plagued with a silent madness. Perhaps I should just generally invest in more holy water, if it’s one thing that can keep me safe.

I clearly have to investigate further, but I don’t know where to start. The egg isn’t the only most pressing matter on my mind right now. There’s also the question of my powers, of the messed up future in the City of Mizu, and of the inbetween. I’d have to write separately for the inbetween, it seems like a whole other leviathan I can’t quite tackle with just a singular diary entry. There’s too many questions and too little answers. There’s too many unknown variables, and the ones I do know I still don’t fully understand.

Maybe I can’t do this alone.

…

No. No, I’ve been over this. I have to. I can’t involve or burden anyone else with this. If there’s anything I can do, I should do it. Call it a hero complex, call it selfishness, but I just want to be able to help. I want to be able to say I’ve contributed, to leave my mark on this fleeting world.

~~I just want someone to tell me I’ve done something. I just want someone by my side, please.~~

I need to start planning things out. I should recognize my priorities, and focus almost entirely on them. I can’t spread myself too thin by trying to answer everything at once. Start small, work out the little tangles at the edges and slowly move your way up the tapestry of this messed up universe. Just because my travels are abrupt and unplanned doesn’t mean I should be unprepared to deal with them. If anything, because of their inherent unpredictable nature, I should be more careful. But that’s for another day. I still need rest for now. I need to take a break to clear my thoughts if I want to eventually make any kind of progress.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl Jacobs

-

_He rushes to close off the last paragraph, trying to stay discreet as the figure on the bed behind him stirs in the hold of slumber. He hadn’t been lying when he said he needed rest, but he just couldn’t sleep without writing everything down. He couldn’t even trust his own memories anymore, with the thread of them running away from him. He needed to record everything almost immediately, and only then would his heart and mind be put to ease. Thankfully, he had always been rather quick to note down important details and before long he was finally finished and hiding the diary in another secret chest he would pick it up from later. It feels like a weight had been lifted off his chest, honestly._

_He slips into the bed with as much decorum as his tired brain can muster, but it’s futile when the other’s eyes blink open to look at him. Thankfully, he’s too tired to question it and just opens up his arms for the time traveler to crawl into. He does exactly that, sighing softly as their legs intertwine and his head rests on a muscular bicep. He feels the sheets being pulled up over him and a gentle kiss being pressed to his forehead, and he smiles as he drifts off to dreamland._

_Sapnap’s warmth had always been so inviting, after all._


	3. Diary Entry #3

The inbetween.

It’s a place I don't quite understand. I feel like I've been there before, but I can't put my finger on it. I mean, the books left there do say I’ve been there a few times now, but I can say for certain this is the first time I’ve remembered it so clearly. I don’t know how or why I could possibly forget such an important detail. I should look into that, really, but for now… I need to think about the inbetween.

It’s… odd. It’s so surreal that it’s almost… eerie. Its familiarity and even nostalgia can be explained through past visits, if the books tell the truth. However, it doesn’t explain the distinct sense of loneliness, emptiness, and dare I say fear that I feel when I traverse its premises. The lights are just a bit too bright. The colors are just a little too muted. The hallways are just a tad too long. The buildings are just a hint too tall. The breeze is just a tiny bit too chilly. The imagery I’m faced with makes absolutely no sense. There’s so much space, but nothing is there to fill it. It feels like too much and yet it has too little at the same time. It feels bizarre, straight out of one’s imagination. It feels…

It feels almost… _ď̷͈r̶̬̈́ē̶̮ȁ̴̹m̵̲̕like._

.

.

.

I… I can't keep losing my memory. My head always aches impossibly so after travels like these, and no amount of physical medication so far has remedied it. Countless images flash by and disappear, and I can almost feel them slip from my grasp and blur into nothingness. It seems like every time I go to the inbetween it happens, but I can't just stop going. I can’t just turn back at the first sign of progress just because it scares me a little. I can’t just stop in my tracks from something that isn’t even immediate danger.

I know I’ve had my qualms about the place, but as much as I hate to admit it, it’s a good omen. Change is preferable, whether for better or for worse. It means I’m finally getting somewhere, even if it may be just another bad ending. No matter how much I feel like a horror movie protagonist right now, I can’t just let myself be dissuaded. I think I can understand them a little better now. Against my gut feelings, I’m going to examine that dimension further. I know it may be odd and even a little creepy, but... maybe there’s more to that place that I'm just unaware of.

I’ve decided. I just have to keep looking deeper and deeper into the inbetween so I can find a way to ensure that I don't lose everyone that's so close to me. It’s such a big place, and it’s bound to hold some big new discoveries. There are corridors I’ve never been in, rooms I’ve never explored, paths I’ve never traversed and so much more. I have no doubt in my mind that some secrets are hidden there, and if the books are to be trusted then I’m sure some of them hold the key to my deteriorating memory. As long as I can find something, anything, it’s another piece of information that I can make useful in my endeavors.

God, I can’t believe I trust some words on paper more than myself at this point. It’s pathetic. ~~I’m pathetic.~~

On another note, I need to move this library. It’s far too close to the site of irreparable destruction, and I have a nagging feeling at the back of my mind that tells me it’ll be part of that soon. Whether irrational or not, I can admit that I want to keep this place safe and tucked away from any possible damage. I can’t have that kind of harm happen to this library, not when it holds shelves upon shelves of records of my travels. There’s so much information these books of mine hold, so many little details I can get back to for future reference. It needs to be preserved.

~~The evidence of my mark on this world needs to be preserved.~~

Regardless, as I’ve said before, I will not falter. Whatever adversary comes my way, I will brave in order to accomplish my ~~admittedly uncertain~~ goals. I will find every way possible to ensure that no matter what, I can do my part to bring happiness to these lands… one preserved story at a time.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl Jacobs

-

_He tucks the diary under his arm, alongside several other books from his secret room. It’s a little easier to break through the wall now, whether that means he’s getting stronger or the wood is getting weaker from all the times he’s done this before. He sure hopes it’s the former, or at least a mix of both. Either way, he patches up the secret entrance despite almost all its contents having been emptied already. He can’t leave a single trace of his activities lest they raise even the slightest bit of suspicion. That’s why even now, he hides under the cover of night and darkness so he can successfully slip away to the cozy house he shares with his fiancés as discreetly as possible._

_As expected, no one greets him at the door. It’s not that Quackity and Sapnap are particularly bad partners, if anything they’re the sweetest and most accommodating people he’s ever met by far. Rather, it’s his fault for always coming home so late from things like these. It’s the dead of the night, possibly long past 2 A.M. and he’s sure they’ve retreated to their rooms hours ago to catch up on some sleep after waiting for him for far too long. He can’t help it, no matter how apologetic he may be. He just can’t risk them finding him stumbling and disoriented after a recent trip, or holding books they’ve never seen before despite the countless lazy afternoons they spent just reading everything his library holds._

_The thought of those times makes him smile and reminisce, and for a moment, in his solitude, he lets himself pretend he’s there in that moment once again. Before he hides away his secrets, he traces the pages that hold them with a tentative hand, eyes skimming the words that hold his entire self. If he focuses, he can almost feel it. He can almost feel Sapnap curled into his side with alert ears as Quackity gives a dramatic reading of the sentences his fingers are passing over. He continues the foolish tirade, acting like his imagination is actually reality and reviewing the contents of his precious diary from start to finish and the methodical scanning of his eyes feels like a monotonous yet welcome routine and then… he abruptly closes the book shut before shoving it into his hiding place hastily like he’s been burned badly._

_Staring at the recent entries for far too long can make the words morph into a sick, twisted, and f̶̯̾ą̵͚̈́m̸̫̙̍͝i̸̯͍̒̽l̷̹̕i̷̱͚͆̾a̵̭͈͛ŗ̸͓́ smiley face._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the zalgo text: the first is dream and the second is familiar
> 
> okay so first off, i have a very strong belief that karl and ranboo are connected somehow. which, by extension, means that dream and the egg are also connected. i don't really know specifically how just yet, but i have connected some minor dots and i'm sorry because you'll now be subject to all my little theories throughout the course of this
> 
> i believe the inbetween is a liminal space of sorts. for a bit of background, a liminal space usually refers to a wide, strikingly empty transitional space. transitional spaces are often physical buffers or links between two areas, such as hallways, atriums, plazas, etc. you may recognize these as strangely familiar pictures that may make you feel uncomfortable. they are often familiar because of the old architecture, unnerving because of the sheer emptiness and lack of people, and bizarre because of its almost... dreamlike quality.
> 
> i'm sure you can see where i'm going with this. the inbetween, true to its namesake, is a dimension literally in between karl's main timeline and the ones he travels to. it's a transitional space of sorts, a link between his real world and the different timelines he's subjected to. it's also massive and pristine white, yet largely unoccupied. most of all, it feels absolutely surreal, as if you're seeing it in a dream.
> 
> i feel as if there's an important connection that can be established between these key details and the whole thing with dream and ranboo. i'm not sure if its going to be canon, but you best believe i'm exploring that in this fic. until next time, hope you liked it :DD


	4. Diary Entry #...4

The fire is familiar.

I guess it makes sense. From years of hiding under fluffy sweaters and oversized hoodies, from nights of curling up by another’s side, from days passing by with warmth blooming in my chest as I spend them with my fiancés. I always had an aversion to the cold, always tended to cling to heat and its comfort. It’s no wonder the fire is familiar when I’m surrounded constantly by it, by the conflagrations of war and destruction and the flames of love and affection. It’s no wonder the fire is familiar when I let myself get burned by it, when I partake in the conflict that brings nations to ashes, when I let my love swallow me whole and my affections consume me.

But, even under the blistering heat of the wild west, there’s a distinct warmth that the sun itself doesn’t bring.

His demeanor. His fiery, fervid personality. His loud words wielded like flashy weapons and his pride overflowing from bottomless pools of self-confidence. The inferno that makes up who he is, the towering firestorm that plainly defines his aggressive and uncouth self. The way he simply jumps into any situation, into people’s lives with neither decorum nor grace like the unforgiving nature of fire that pays no heed to anything beyond physical barriers. Like a flame, he will go wherever he can. Like a flame, he will burn down the adversaries in his path. Like a flame, he will seep through the crevices of your heart and find his home in the volatile nature of human emotions.

Jack was awfully familiar, I learned. As for his companion…

His eyes. His sparkling, twinkling windows to the soul. His lazy smirk meant to mask his inherent danger and his charisma oozing from an endless stream of allure. The blaze that makes up who he is, the small embers that deceive the true intensity of his passionate and determined self. The way he simply remains unbothered, remains laid-back and lax like the unyielding nature of fire that pays no heed to anything attempting to quell its incandescence. Like a flame, he will do whatever he wants. Like a flame, he will burn constant to prove his undying tenacity. Like a flame, he will not cease to flood you with his comforting warmth and drown you in the heat of his intense and vehement sentiments.

Of course, Mason was no exception.

They are like two sides to fire, one free inferno to one controlled blaze. The fleeting to the constant, the flashy to the restrained. They are like the two halves of my heart, one burnt to the ground from the ardent and the other cradled in constant heat from the gentle. Like a flame, they burn and like a flame, they die.

His now quiet demeanor. His now lifeless eyes. Their now dead bodies, sprawled on the ground. The liquid crimson of their fervid lives drip down to stain the earth with their blood. The inferno had been calmed down and the blaze had been extinguished, the latter by my own hand. I admit I had initially been blinded by rage, by animosity and self-righteousness. However, it doesn’t change that firing the bullet like a shot in the dark had brought me the light and finally cleared up the fog in my mind. The clarity brought upon by the resounding peace is startling, to say the least.

It’s not entirely impossible, if anything it’s actually quite likely. If time travel is possible and a sentient bloodthirsty egg can exist, then surely this can. It should come as no surprise to me that people have multiple incarnations, some even may end up as their direct ancestors or descendants. Had I thought about it just a bit sooner, I would recognize that I had already met reincarnations or ancestors of people I know. Technoblade’s signature monotone sarcasm and regality is clearly present in the sheriff and Sir Billiam, Bad’s general kindness and passive nature can be found in William and Lord Sebastian, and so on.

What comes as a surprise, however, is how I can never seem to fail to fall in love with all incarnations of my fiancés.

In hindsight, that is probably why Drew and James were so familiar and magnetic. Fate had brought us together once again, and like a fool I am drawn to what my heart holds dear. I recognize Quackity’s rowdiness and sharp intellect in both Drew and Jack, and I recognize Sapnap’s charm and unwavering prowess in both James and Mason. I recognize them, and I cannot help but fall in love all over again.

It’s not exactly them, but it’s also them at the same time. It’s not them; those are entirely different people with different histories and futures and moral compasses. Those are people with more to their names than just simply being my fiancés’ reincarnations. And yet, it’s also them; the subtleties are indicative of the characters I am so very painfully familiar with. They’re the same flame, with different fuels and colors and intensities, but still the same flame. And just like a moth, I can’t help being attracted to its light and warmth.

I should really stop being such a lovesick fool.

…

Then again, I think I deserve to be a little fond. Sometimes it feels like I’ve spent far too long lost in the past or stuck in the future, like I’ve spent far too long away from them. Sometimes it feels like I’m forgetting the way Quackity grins, or the way Sapnap laughs. Sometimes it feels like I’m forgetting the way Quackity tends to ramble about anything and everything, or the way Sapnap tends to smile softly at him when he’s listening with his full attention. Sometimes it feels like I’m forgetting the way they hug, the way they kiss, the way they love.

I can’t even tell if it’s from going so long without them on my travels, or just the consequence of them.

…

Either way, my memory is getting worse. I think I need to start working on a guideline of sorts, and put it right at the first page of this diary so I don’t miss it. It needs to have the most basic information on myself, my fiancés, and my current environment. It also needs basic information on everyone and my already existing interpersonal relationships. I don’t want to accidentally forget important details that could possibly draw attention to me or even reveal what I’ve been up to. More than anything, it is imperative I don’t lose myself before I finish my quest. I can’t succeed if I don’t know who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.

~~More than anything, I don’t want to forget Quackity and Sapnap.~~

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl Jacobs

-

  
_He stirs awake at a gentle prodding, eyes opening to discover he had fallen asleep at his desk after pouring out his heart to his diary in the middle of the night. Thankfully, it was safely tucked away in a drawer lest anyone find it. Instead, the wooden surface he had been sleeping on had several papers strewn over it and he recognizes them to be drafts and the most basic outline for the eventual book for the wild west. To anyone else, it would look like he had simply dozed off while working on his newest tale. While it wasn’t technically wrong, it wasn’t entirely correct either. Not that anyone needed to know, of course._

_It’s not that he didn’t trust his fiancés when it came to respecting his privacy, but he was just paranoid and wanted to be extra safe. It’s a delicate endeavor, and he can’t risk any interference even if it could possibly be positive. He doesn’t have much time to think about it though, not when there’s a more important matter at hand. He whines incessantly as he’s pulled up from his resting position with promises of food, though he does eventually concede to the inevitable task of waking up. He gathers the papers into a haphazard pile and looks over his shoulder to greet Sapnap._

_That’s strange. Were his eyes always Prussian blue, or his hair always dark brown? When had he started wearing a white half-mask?_

_He blinks once again and the face he’s familiar with is back. Hazelnut eyes and dark hair, a confused smile without a mask in sight. He brushes off the concern and chalks his behavior up to sleepiness, and that’s that. Sapnap just shrugs and takes his hand in his to squeeze reassuringly, clearly not thinking too much of it ~~even when he really should.~~ He lets himself be led outside his study and into the dining room, where Quackity had apparently made them breakfast. It’s a miracle he didn’t burn the house down, if the previous incident with pizza was any indicator of his culinary skill. It’s a simple meal of bacon and eggs, but it’s enough to make his stomach rumble in anticipation. The aroma is simply irresistible, as is Quackity’s proud grin when he leans across the table to give a quick kiss on the cheek as a reward for a job well done._

_For a moment, his eyes flash a brilliant blue behind a crimson mask and his hair shortens._

_Again, he blinks and the visage is gone. He shakes it off once again, making a show of rubbing his eyes in faux exhaustion. He slumps back onto his seat, not entirely sure if the trembling in his hands is because he really just woke up or if he’s truly shaken by what he keeps seeing. Though the display earns him some lighthearted scolding about his apparent sleep schedule, he can’t really bring himself to be bothered about it knowing they really do worry about him. They worry about him, and want the best for him and his deepening eye bags and sluggish movements and thinning frame. And really, they’re justified in that because he blinks once again and he’s faced with messy hair and bandanas and cowboy hats and…_

_Distantly, he wonders if he’s forgetting the way Quackity and Sapnap look too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe i said i was gonna make this a shorter chapter bc i didnt know what to write in it and BOOM its suddenly 150% of my average chapter length for this fic. inspiration can do wonderful things
> 
> ok so i definitely fell more into my comfort zone here skjfshd its just been so long since i wrote like that. thankfully it doesn't look too out of place at least hahakdsf i hope you all enjoy it regardless :DD


	5. Diary Entry #...5?

I still don’t know how to feel about the inbetween.

It should comfort me, I know it should. As far as I know, I’m the only one with access to this dimension. No one else could have written the messages in books that I find laying around the place. No one would know of my time travels or its consequences so intricately with how I’ve kept it a secret, so only one scenario is possible. I visited this place in the past, I wrote to myself, and now I’m reading it so that I get on the right track. Seeing multiple versions of me running around only confirms it. Though, it does still beg a few pressing questions.

Writings addressed directly to myself means that I had gone through this enough times to recognize the effects of time travel. It also means that I knew there would be multiple versions of myself travelling through the inbetween, some still new to the concept of time travel. I somehow knew that some sort of cycle was in place, and took advantage of that so that the newer versions of myself would have more information to go off of than the last. It’s smart, and it ensures that there will be some sort of progress eventually. The messages are like a guide, like something for me to pick up if I’ve found myself at square one once again.

Judging by their contents, I had already discovered the secrets in the inbetween but ended up forgetting and searching for it all over again. I could assume that somewhere along the way, I discovered I forgot and started writing to myself so I knew to look for it. Seeing as there are no direct directions or specific locations, I can assume that the secrets do not remain in one place. Otherwise, it would be much easier to outright lead myself to the key of all our problems. This is supported by one of the messages telling me of how the castle is dynamic, ever moving and ever changing. On the other hand, it could also mean I had never even discovered them in the first place, but that’s unlikely considering that I know of their existence. I shouldn’t ignore the possibility, though.

Most of all, there are ominous notes slipped into small crevices that warn me not to stray from the path. It’s eerie, to say the least, and doesn’t exactly help with my growing suspicion. The message isn’t left in broad daylight, where it’s easy to see. Instead, it’s shoved under a tree and hidden. If it’s meant to be a warning, then…

There’s a threat. Somewhere in the inbetween, something doesn’t want me to know of its existence and danger. Something had been a threat enough to warrant hiding secret messages. Though the contents and its implications are confusing, it doesn’t change that something out there doesn’t want me to know that I shouldn’t stray from the path. It seems like it should be a pretty obvious guide note, but something seems to want me to stray by hiding the warnings against doing so. Or I could be the one to hide them myself, so the specific something wouldn’t know I was aware of it. Either way, it’s not a good sight and there’s clearly a threat lurking here somewhere.

If I’m the only one with access to this dimension, then could this mean the impending threat is myself?

…

I’d prefer not to think about it, if I’m being honest. It means that some version of myself had decided to self-sabotage somehow, and for reasons I can’t yet understand. Well, that’s not entirely true. I think I can imagine what went down.

How many times had I gone through this, only to forget? How many more will I go through it, and will I fail once again?

No matter how much I swear not to falter, the human conviction is only so fragile. It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility for a version of myself to have crumbled under the immense pressure and given up. I can’t exactly berate that, considering how I’ve also entertained that thought before. However, I can, at the very least, promise to myself that I won’t go down that path. For as long as I can, I will keep my resolve unwavering, I will keep my travels ongoing, I will keep the clock ticking. Time is under my power, and therefore is also my responsibility.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

…

−Karl Jacobs ~~…?~~

-

_He closes the book, tucking it into his hoodie pocket along with the pen as he jumps off the swing. He finds himself transfixed as it slowly comes to a stop, chains clicking against each other in the motion. That’s weird. The swing set was oddly familiar, particularly the way it sat under a tree. For some reason, the sight gives him such conflicting feelings and twists his guts in a way he doesn’t think he’s ready to deal with yet. He couldn’t seem to recall where he had last seen something like this, ~~he couldn’t seem to recall much, really.~~ He shrugs it off, chalking it up to childhood nostalgia and memories from a distant past. _

_He dusts himself off, revealing his pristine white clothes. He doesn’t know where the clothes come from, but he’s grateful they’re comfortable and well kept. The inbetween was awfully chilly, the icy zephyr permeating all his layers and seeping into his skin no matter how many there are and how thick they may be. He misses the warmth. He wants the warmth back, right now. He doesn’t know where to find it, but he’s not going to get any from just sitting around. He gets up and starts following the path, though he doesn’t really know why he takes this particular route. Movement from his peripheral vision catches his eye and interrupts his train of thought, and he turns to investigate._

_He breathes out a sigh when he realizes it’s just another him. His other self doesn’t even spare him a glance, quickly stomping down the hallway with a resolute look in his eyes. He doesn’t have the heart to stop him, or even chase after him. It seems as if all of them had come to a unanimous rule to not interact with each other lest they interfere with the individual journeys. He doesn’t mind really, mainly because he doesn’t really know what he’d do if he ever had to talk to another version of himself. So, instead, he just continues walking. He continues walking on the path with no real destination, past the threshold to the castle proper, past the other versions of himself also passing by on their own missions. Some look determined, some look angry, some look mournful, some look happy… while he just feels lost._

_Despite so many of him running around… why does he still feel so alone?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's going to be a bit of filler as the proper plot of this fic creeps up on us. dont worry, i think i'll have polished the timeline of events in a few so that there isnt too much filler and things arent dragged out for too long. anyway, some of the writing here is definitely based on my own thoughts about the inbetween. this might be where we start to diverge from canon a bit. regardless, i hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading :DD


	6. Diary Entry #???

I’m starting to see why the mysterious want to move the library makes sense.

The new nation is a bit further away from the mainland, but it’s pretty open and has plenty of natural resources around it so I’m not too worried. This also means the new library is going to be a lot bigger than before, and honestly that’s a relief considering how it was starting to get cramped in the old one. There’s going to be more room for shelves and books, and a much cozier lounging area with all the space we can work with. We’ve done a few basic architectural plans, and so far it seems like it’ll be an easy and smooth sailing journey. Honestly, I’m happier with the move than expected. I thought change would be a hard thing to go through, would be a hard thing to adapt to. Well, it’s not like we have room for that with the ever dynamic problem growing just beneath our feet.

The egg and its crimson is spreading quickly, more than I had even anticipated. Just a bit longer and it would’ve completely taken over where the old library stood. Judging from what I’ve seen of it in the past, it can also take over people’s minds and control them which is honestly quite troublesome. Though it does beg the question of: is this really the same egg from all those years ago in Sir Billiam’s mansion? I’ll have to look into that soon enough, maybe even personally visit it. It has a number of unique properties, and in order to fight it I’m going to need substantial knowledge. It’s almost impressive, really, if it weren’t so clearly dangerous. In just a few days, it had spread so far and fast without prior notice…

Has it really just been days? Or has it been weeks, or months? I don’t know. I don’t really know how much time I spend on my travels, or in the inbetween. It’s pretty obvious that the time that passes by while I’m travelling doesn’t correlate to time on my main timeline. Sometimes I could go through several days in the past when it translates to only a few minutes in the present, or I could go through a few hours in the future and have it become apparent weeks of absence in the present. I’m not entirely sure what day it is; time doesn’t even feel real anymore. I guess it makes sense when my perception of it is so warped already.

I don’t care that I can’t tell time anymore. I care that I can’t remember the date, can’t remember when I had last seen them. I care that I don’t know how long it’s been since our anniversary, or how long it will be until their birthdays. I care that I’m missing holidays, skipping important events, forgetting special occasions. I care that I can’t remember the last time Quackity took my hand and led me to have a calm walk with him, can’t remember the last time Sapnap pulled me into bed and hugged me tight until I fell asleep. There’s so much to lose and too little I’m willing to let go of.

~~I care that I can’t make new memories with them to replace the old ones that are slipping from my grasp.~~

...

Regardless, it seems as though I have someone on my side looking after me. At the very least, I know I have people to help me with the big things like moving the library and starting the new nation. George and Sapnap… they’re trying their best to help me with this, and I can only reciprocate their efforts in full. There’s people I can rely on, and I have to ensure they can rely on me too. It’s all the more reason to try and get out of this area. Start anew… and bring everyone I can with me along the way

There has to be a future where we can all live in peace. If there’s infinite alternate timelines, surely one of them holds a good ending of sorts. If there’s infinite possibilities, surely one of them holds an outcome where everyone is alive and well. I can only hope my efforts will eventually bring me there. After all, if I try infinite times as well then I’m sure to reach it someday.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl

-

_“Did you change your clothes or something?”_

_He blinks, footsteps slowing down as the man in front of him comes to a stop suddenly and turns back to look at him. Stray strands of dark hair fall over piercing hazelnut eyes as they peer into his soul, and it feels like he’s being scrutinized down to his very core. He breaks eye contact first, staring at the distance as he fiddles with his hands. There isn’t much to look at, only destruction and the impending doom of crimson vines snaking over what remains of the land. It makes an uneasy feeling rise from the pit of his stomach._

_“What do you mean?” He mumbles nervously, not exactly knowing what to say. He squeaks when he’s suddenly grabbed by the shoulders, the warmth of strong hands permeating the fabric of his sweater. The silence between them is thick, atmosphere heavy with some kind of tension. Although he has no idea what’s going on, he’s not daft enough to miss that it’s an obvious pivotal point of some sorts. Maybe he should write this down later, so he doesn’t forget._

_“Your shirt looks different.” The other man finally says after a few moments, and a hand under his chin urges him to make eye contact once again. There’s concern in the fire in those eyes, there’s a comfortable warmth he’s so familiar with and thus he gets lost in it. He feels fingers trailing down the brightly colored fabric of his sleeves, watching as ~~James? Mason?~~ Sapnap’s face twists into an unreadable expression. He doesn’t know what the big deal is, really._

_“No?”_

_“I think you did… those colors aren’t the same anymore.”_

_“What are you talking about? It’s literally the same…” He trails off, glancing down to look at himself. The front of his right sleeve is a soft pink with the back being a pleasant purple, and the front of his left sleeve is a calm yellow with the back of it being sky blue. His torso is predominantly teal, with a purple swirl sitting right in the middle of it._

_It doesn’t feel off at all. It feels completely normal. Was there something off about it? Should he be concerned? It’s what he’s always worn, from the very beginning. It’s not like he has any alternate versions of this particular piece of clothing. In fact, he doesn’t think he remembers wearing anything outside of this general theme in the first place. But he knows his memory isn’t the best, and he believes this person knows more about him than he ever could. If he says its odd, then it must be, right? But then that would tear down a notion he’s just accepted as fact for so long. If he can’t even trust what he expected to be the constants, then what else could he believe in?_

_~~He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anymore.~~ _

_Why is it that when things feel right, they’re apparently wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot :D
> 
> yes i managed to shorten the amount of chapters so that there isn't as much filler anymore kjdhfs i dont have much else to say other than: i hope you enjoy this :DD
> 
> also... this is the first time dialogue has ever showed up in the little snippets of narrative at the end of the diary entries. make of that what you will :)


	7. Diary Entry #?????

I was supposed to visit the egg today. I didn’t get to.

I had it all planned honestly, I scheduled it for today and packed with all the necessary tools should I ever need them. I had packed several potions, food, papers, and pens so that I wouldn’t be in any real danger and would be able to note down everything I could. The egg is a threat, though to which degree I’m not entirely sure of yet. It’s much better to come over-prepared rather than under-prepared. It’s not a total loss, it’s not like I couldn’t use any of those for future visits anyway. What’s more pressing is the thing that distracted me from my original goal in the first place.

Ranboo passed by me earlier acting all weird. It looked like he came from the direction of the community house. I have no idea what he was doing there, but it didn’t look like it had a good effect on him at all. It almost seemed like he was zoned out and in a daze, like he was an entirely different person. He was also largely unresponsive. He didn’t even wave or say hi like he normally does when we come across each other, he just passed me like I was some stranger. I even called out to him and got no response.

Naturally, I decided to follow him. The egg could always wait, it seemed to be stationary. Besides, it wasn’t just for information. I was also concerned for him, because he seemed really out of it. I didn’t want him to get into any danger. There’s also always the off-chance that this was something in direct correlation to the egg. It messes with people’s minds, right? So it could’ve certainly done something to him… especially since he’s part enderman. I don’t think he can use the holy water as a repellent to the egg since it might do him more harm than good.

Regardless, I tried tailing him for a bit. He didn’t even seem to notice me, because if he did then he clearly didn’t care. Of course, eventually I failed. ~~I always do I always do I always do I always fucking do I’m such a failure I can’t do anything right I can’t I can’t~~ It’s not a surprise though, considering he has much longer legs than me and walked at a much faster pace. Before long, I just completely lost him. With how tall and distinctive his appearance is, you’d think I would be able to find him eventually but nope. I kept looking around and everything, but there was still no sign of him.

Well, that is until he sent a message in global chat through the communicator. I still didn’t gain anything from it, though. It was a bunch of unfamiliar symbols that I couldn’t even decode. From the looks of it, no one else could either especially with Punz’s reaction. I’m still keeping it in mind for future reference, though. I ended up rushing to write it down before the code was drowned in the sea of other messages, and headed to my old library to see if any of the books remaining held some sort of hint or key to finding the real meaning behind this. I didn’t end up finding anything, but I’ll continue to do research with the rest of the books in the new library.

You know, now is a good time to bring up how I feel a strange sort of connection with Ranboo. Maybe it’s the fact we both have considerable memory problems, though no one else knows of mine. I don’t know exactly. I just feel the urge to confront him about… something. I don’t know what yet. It’s like I’m drawn to him for some reason, like the universe is giving me some sort of nudge towards him. But you know I can’t just do that. I can’t just approach him without any real rhyme or reason, and tell him it’s just because my gut feeling tells me there’s something going on with him. I can’t do anything about it yet, but I’ll definitely make sure I’ll address this eventually.

Any scrap of information is valuable, you know. I can’t brush even the littlest things aside. The smallest tugs, the most random compulsions, the deep rooted feelings are all things I cannot ignore if I want to make any kind of progress. New information is new information, and it’ll be useful eventually. Even unused, it adds to my arsenal of things to work with. I have to make sure I don’t miss anything, and that I write everything down so I can go back to them when I do forget.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl

-

_He can only look on sadly as his fiancé balls his hands into fists tightly in frustration and bangs it against the desk._

_He doesn’t know much, but he can tell there’s something going on between the other man and the faction related to the egg. He doesn’t remember what it’s called anymore, or who’s in it, but surely it’s bad if it involves the egg and upsets his fiancé. He doesn’t know what to do other than come up behind him and give him a hug as a small form of comfort._

_The man with the kind voice dressed in black… he had done this, right? He made his fiancé like this, confused and sad and broken. They had a disagreement… and they fought… and they were torn apart. He’s sure none of them really meant to do so. They seemed to be friends, in the beginning at least. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t really remember the beginning anymore. Either way, they ended up like this, with his fiancé vowing to do something about the man and the egg with whispered promises and muttered curses._

_~~Drew? Jack?~~ Quackity was going to go through with this endeavor alone, he realizes. This would be his call to make, his battle to fight. There was no stopping him. There was a burning passion in his eyes that was so very reminiscent of more hopeful times, a fire from deep within that he is all too familiar with. After all, it was the very same flame that flickered from the depths of his being when he had first discovered his unique ability, the very same flame that cradled the embers of his blazing desire to do what is right and to do it on his own. It was the very same flame, fueled by love and loss, that had guided him onto his solitary path with only himself and his words on paper to trust. _

_He sees the beginnings of that very same inferno in the way Quackity gently pushes him back and says something about having to go somewhere and check on something. He didn’t have to lie, really. Both of them knew full well he was going to prepare for something, for a plan that he would plan out by himself and carry out by himself. Both of them knew that he would not let anyone else accompany him on this journey._

_He would stop Quackity gladly… if it didn’t make him a hypocrite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quackity subplot pog??? yes
> 
> i am so excited for the next tales episode you dont even know


	8. Diary Entry

I think I know why Ranboo was acting so weird last time.

Sapnap ~~?~~ talked about how he went to visit Dream in prison. I don’t quite know why he talked about it like it was such a big thing, but I don’t bring it up because I don’t really need to. I’m always here to listen to him anyway, no matter what he wants to talk about. He said Dream was really quiet, and seemed really upset over it for some reason. Well, it kind of makes sense, I would be a bit bummed out if I went all the way for someone only for them not to talk to me. He said he was mostly just running a one-sided conversation, spending most of their time in tense silence waiting for Dream to finish writing out a response in a notebook. He said things about trying to repair broken friendships, making it clear that he wouldn’t let Dream escape, promising to keep visiting with George, but most of all…

He said Dream asked him to send a message, which was to be given to Ranboo.

That was news to me, so of course I asked him to elaborate. Thankfully, I made sure I didn’t forget a single detail of it. Everything lines up. He said they met up at the community house, which is in the direction I saw Ranboo coming from. The timing is also correct, because I remember him leaving not too long before I left for the egg. That should’ve given him time to go through all the safety procedures in the prison and talk to Dream.

What doesn’t line up to me, however, is the sheer effect a simple smiley face had on Ranboo.

Sapnap even showed me the piece of paper itself. ~~It’s so unsettling it’s so creepy it’s so eerie I hate it I really hate it please get it away from me~~ It seems pretty harmless in and of itself honestly, it just looks like the one on Dream’s mask. If that invoked such a visceral reaction from Ranboo, then that’s especially worrying. He’s definitely going through something, and it has something to do with Dream. There’s something more to this. I need to investigate it too eventually, especially if Dream and Ranboo are connected somehow. I just hope the kid is okay, it must be rough..

Dream is familiar, but not in the way you’d expect. Yes, I know him, but I feel like I know more to him than I was previously aware of. I get a strong sense of uneasiness and a bittersweet taste on my tongue whenever I get reminded of him, and I’m sure it’s not entirely attributed to my general distaste for the bad things he’s done. There’s a deeper connection there somewhere, either buried in my memories or lost to travels in time. I feel compelled to look into this somehow. It’s just a gut feeling, but it’s all I have to guide me. I have no real direction when it comes to this, and if I can’t trust my own subconscious then I can’t trust anyone.

I need to ask him about something... everything… I don’t know yet, but I know I have to go see him. Yes, I plan to visit Dream in prison. It’s considerably safer than going to the egg anyway, with all its security measures and with Sam ensuring my wellbeing. The egg is far too unpredictable, and I could be walking away having lost more than I gained if it does decide to take over my mind. The prison is also risky, yes, but as of now I have too many questions and too little answers and just the right amount of time on my hands. I shouldn’t brush Dream aside so easily when he’s clearly exhibited that he knows something the others don’t, that he has powers and motivations beyond our understanding.

If I’m being honest, I’m not entirely sure how big of a role this will play in the long run. I think this will prove to be of some significance in the very least, if we take the Lost City of Mizu into consideration. A descendant of Ranboo that has ended up worshipping Dream, in a future whose history could not be further from the truth… it’s certainly food for thought. I don’t even know if Dream and Ranboo’s connection is in direct correlation to that, or if it’s merely a series of natural information loss over generations and lucky coincidences. If this points to something bigger, then I’ve gathered the first puzzle piece already. If nothing else, I believe I’ll get some answers to solve my own personal questions.

I have to go and prepare myself, both mentally and physically. I don’t doubt that the prison visit will be a tense one, judging from what I’ve heard of Sapnap’s own experience. Worst case scenario is that I don’t get a single response at all, and I’m left at a dead end. Perhaps I could even coax Dream into talking if I ask interesting questions… I’ll have to think about it clearly later. For now, I have to organize the rest of the books that came in. I can't work properly in a messy environment.

Til next time. Remember who you are.

−Karl?

-

_“Are you okay?”_

_He blinks at the two people standing in the doorway of the new library, both of them slowly walking towards the shelf where he was arranging books. The shorter one of them has a suit on, a little bit wrinkled and tousled much like the dark blue beanie plopped haphazardly on his head. The taller one of them has a bandana wrapped around his forehead and is fully decked out from head to toe in armor, dark like netherite and shimmering with the telltale glow of enchantments. There’s something intense in the way they’re looking at him, like they’re scrutinizing him and peering through the windows of his very soul. He shifts in place, not entirely sure how to react to this._

_~~They seem awfully familiar, but he just couldn’t for the life of him remember how.~~ _

_“W… why wouldn’t I be?” He mutters nervously, averting his gaze. He fiddles with his sweater, playing with the soft pink and yellow fabrics at the front of his sleeves while he awaits a response. He silently hopes they’ll drop it and carry on, but it doesn’t seem entirely possible ~~anymore.~~_

_“You’ve just been really distant lately. You’re always going off on your own, always have your nose buried in a book or writing something in one. It feels like we haven’t seen you around much in the past few months, and…” The one in the beanie trails off, and there’s a palpable tension of sorts in the air between them. No one quite knows what to say to add to that, but the silence is eventually broken by the one in the white bandana._

_“Are you hiding something from us?”_

_It comes back in bright flashes, images of diary entries and old structures and water domes all piercing through his thought process like knives that make him shed blood and tears. Distantly, he feels a droplet run down the expanse of his cheek and feels his hands tremble slightly at his sides as nails dig into them with far too much force. He doesn’t register that they’ve moved until he feels himself being pressed into a warm chest, leaning back slightly in surprise to find that he’s being hugged from behind as well. He crumbles in the affection, burying his face in the crook of a neck as familiar arms wrap around his shaking frame and hold him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He doesn’t feel like he’s worthy of that right now, when he’s oh so helpless and lost and just broken beyond repair as the consequence of messing with time._

_“It’s okay if you are.” The one in the bandana whispers reassuringly into his ear, and he relaxes considerably. They’re both soothing, cozy and comfortable and he doesn’t want to let them go ~~ever again.~~ “It’s okay if you don’t tell us yet. We’re just worried. We want to help, you know? We don’t like to see you suffering or in pain.”_

_He agrees with that sentiment, he thinks. He doesn’t like to see them suffering or in pain either. He doesn’t like to see a bloody head crushed between two bookshelves, a limp corpse with a gaping wound in the chest, two bodies sprawled on the ground with bullet holes decorating both torsos. He doesn’t like to see them like that at all, and he doesn’t want to see them like that ever again._

_“A little bit.” He breathes out shakily, leaning into the familiar warmth like it’s the only thing keeping him in a coherent state of mind. ~~It might be. Who knows?~~ “I’m just hiding a little bit. It’s just a small problem. I can handle it on my own, don’t worry.” ~~I should be, I should handle it on my own, I should be I should be I should be I can’t burden anyone with this I can’t bother anyone I can’t rely on anyone I need to do this on my own I can’t tell anyone I can’t I can’t~~_ ~~_I ca−_~~

_“You sure?”_

_“I’m sure. I’ll be okay.”_

_It sounds less like he’s trying to convince them and more like he’s trying to convince himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oho things are heating up
> 
> theres shorter entries and longer narratives now,,, i wonder what this could mean :]]


	9. Diary Entry.

I visited Dream in prison today.

The prison security system was far more intensive than I had thought. It sure was elaborate, and honestly rather terrifying. Sam almost feels like he’s an entirely different person as the prison warden. He’s thorough and intimidating, leaving no room for meaningless nonsense or delay. Despite all that, I know he only does it because he cares. He’s one of the more sympathetic ones around, and I know he’s only so strict to ensure that the prisoner doesn’t even get a single chance at making it out of the cell.

I don’t even remember half of the measures I went through. It feels like I was in some sort of trance, just floating along and listening to Sam’s instructions as we went along. It only all came to a head when I finally saw that massive wall of lava.

He was just beyond there. Just beyond the wall of fiery death, just beyond the fatal obstacle of all that I had grown comfortable with was Dream himself. The man who had caused so much chaos and havoc, who had pioneered so much ruin and destruction, who had broken both objects and people like he saw no real difference between them was just sitting there on the other side. I began to wonder what he would be like, what prison had done to such a complex man. Would he be ripping at the seams, driven to insanity in the claustrophobic room of his cell? Would he be seething in anger, with poison seeping into his words and vowing vengeance with every passing day? Would he be plagued with regret, reflecting deeply on what had led him to this point in time? Would he be riddled with saudade, reminiscing of a time that had long since passed?

When I had crossed the dangerous gap on a precariously moving platform, I quickly learned he was none of those. He was silent, and had a blank look in his eyes as he stared into the obsidian walls like he was off in an entirely different world. There was nothing of note in the room itself, just the simple basic utilities needed for one’s wellbeing, a clock to tell the time, and countless empty books to pass said time. He didn’t even acknowledge me beyond opening the book in his lap and hovering a hand over the feather pen that came with it.

As I suspected, he didn’t answer any of my questions properly. He didn’t even react beyond writing that he would not speak. I don’t exactly know how long I spent there, throat running dry at desperate tangents that received no answer. I am not a person of unwavering persistence nor patience, so it only made sense that I got tired eventually and moved to leave. Except just when I was about to go, Dream had pulled me back to show me just one simple little thing.

It was a piece of paper soon to be slipped into my hoodie pocket, crumpled and worn with a crudely drawn smiley face on it.

Just what was that even supposed to even mean? At the very least, it was slightly annoying. At the absolute most, it was downright maddening. It holds no meaning to me. ~~It shouldn’t.~~ I have never seen it outside of his porcelain mask and the message he had passed to Ranboo. ~~Except I have.~~ I shouldn’t feel so strongly over it at all, because it’s just a single little smiley face. ~~It’s not.~~ It can’t hurt me. ~~It will, it will, it will hurt me it’s going to come for me it’s going to find me it’s going to−~~

.

.

.

I should think about more pressing matters. I’ve already established that I gained close to nothing from visiting Dream. I need to gather my thoughts, and begin to identify the what I should do next.

I don’t think I can trust my memory anymore. I’ve been forgetting so much. Just the other day, I had almost entirely forgotten one of my travels while arranging books. I nearly put one of them in the shelves accessible to the general public because I thought it was just some other history book. It wasn’t until I skimmed through the first page and saw my signature that I did realize this was a journey I had gone on. I still don’t even remember what happened, I just saw the signature and quickly tucked it away.

That’s extremely worrying, if I’m being honest. The transcripts of my travels are some of the only things I can trust at this point in time. Words written on paper bring a sense of reality to things, because if they’re there then I can’t deny that they’ve happened. Though for most they end there, it goes beyond for me. I could forget a thousand travels, but the words written are something personal enough to tug at my brain and pull back the memories I had lost. I could forget a thousand travels, but the words written are something that take that exact moment and burn it into my brain in such a way that everything comes flowing back to me. They’re not just transcripts of my travels, they’re gateways to reliving those travels in my mind so that I remember them once again.

If I can’t even remember inklings of the events behind the writings, if I can’t even recall a single detail from my point of view even after reading everything, then the words have lost all meaning. I have nothing left for myself at that point in time. I have nothing left to recover, nothing left to protect. They’d be just as good as fiction, just as good as distant history. They invoke nothing in me, and all connection I have to those are subsequently lost.

I can’t have this happen more, but I have the feeling it’s inevitable. I think I’ve gotten to a point where the consequences have become far too dire, and my progress will be slowed at this point. I refuse to give up, however. I will continue my search for as long as is physically and mentally possible. There’s no going back, there’s nothing to go back to. All I can do is press on, and go forward and gather as much as I can. I will scramble for every hint of useful information, I will write all I find a million times over if only to assist the next me. The least I can do is pass something on, and make it easier for my successor.

If nothing else, remember who you are.

−Karl???

-

_“You’re not okay.”_

_He looks up from his desk, turning behind him to see two people step into the room. They’re both in comfortable wear, with simple hoodies and sweatpants. One of them ~~still?~~ has a beanie on and the other has dark hair tied up in a messy bun, though both of them have the same amount of warmth when they take him into their arms in a comforting hug. For a moment, everything is alright and the pain is intangible. He leans into the gesture, feeling stress and tension melt out of him like it hadn’t even been there in the first place._

_“What makes you think that?” He breathes out in a whisper against the skin of James’ neck. He doesn’t know when he even got there, but he’s glad he’s here. He’s glad he’s here because it means he isn’t bleeding out on the ground in some old mansion. Perhaps that had all been a bad d̶̬̬̃r̷̙̤̃͠ȩ̴͜å̶̲̊m̶̓ͅ._

_“You’re only looking worse and worse as the days pass.” James’ grip on him tightens as he sighs into his hair, and he wonders where his mask had gone since he can’t feel it pressing into him. “I don’t mean it in an insulting manner. You zone out a lot, and it’s like you’re in a different world half the time. You’re getting a lot thinner and paler, and your eye bags have become really prominent lately. Have you been eating, or even sleeping?”_

_He thinks about it for a second. He has no idea how long it has been since he had last taken care of himself of his own accord. He’s lost all sense of time in his biological clock, only able to discern it through time periods and dates and calendars. Would they understand if he said he had last eaten a few decades into the future, or last slept a few centuries in the past? He must have not responded in a long time, because soon someone else is talking to fill the silence._

_“It’s not that we don’t trust you.” Drew’s voice pipes up from behind him, and he’s instantly conscious of the other warmth pressing flush against his back. “I guess we’re just trying to say that… we think it’s getting worse. Whatever you’re going through. And that you’re having a hard time handling it on your own. It’s okay, really, there’s nothing wrong with that. We just want you to let us help, one way or another.”_

_He looks over his shoulder to respond, only to be faced with Jack in all his dilapidated glory. The messy brown hair under a cowboy hat and vest over a long sleeved blue shirt only confirms that it’s him. He doesn’t know what Jack did to Drew, but it can’t be anything good. He turns back to ask James for help only to find that Mason is standing there, a dark green bandana pulled up over half of his face like always and his charcoal black eyes concealed by equally dark strands of hair falling over them from under his own cowboy hat. Fuck, they took James too? Oh god, oh god, he’s trapped between them. He’s next._

_“… what do you know about helping?” He mutters lowly, tensing up in their hold._

_“What?” Jack’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and it infuriates him to an impressive degree._

_“You’re just bandits, for god’s sake, being kind is the last thing you’d be able to do.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“Don’t play dumb right now, Jack.” He seethes out through his gritted teeth and attempts to push out of their arms. To his surprise, he’s successful. He must’ve caught them off guard or something, because there’s no way they would just let him go. They're not those kind of people. ~~Are they?~~_

_“Who the hell is Jack?” He turns back so fast that he swears the other bandit flinches in secondhand whiplash. It’s uncharacteristic, but he doesn’t think too much of it._

_“Don’t tell me you don’t know your own partner-in-crime now, Mason.” He spits out with a surprising potency of poison in his voice. For some reason, a tense silence befalls them. He doesn’t get why. They’ve terrorized an entire town for years, they’ve killed his friend John, do they think pretending it didn’t happen will erase it? ~~If only that were true. If only it were that easy.~~_

_“Karl?” Jack’s voice is uncharacteristically soft and gentle, and it’s so unlike the usual cocky and uncouth him that it makes his head hurt a little. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t know he doesn’t know he doesn’t know he doesn’t… Jack? Drew? snaps him out of his thoughts by cupping his face, running a thumb over his cheek gently. It’s then that he realizes he’s been crying, that he had been spilling his deepest feelings in the form of liquid sentiments. “You’re not making any sense. Who are Jack and Mason?”_

_“Hey.” Mason grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into a hug, and it’s so warm and comforting and familiar that his head just hurts even more. He barely tunes in to what he’s saying, the ringing in his ears growing louder by the second. “Stay with us here. You’re at home, you’re safe, you’re with your fiancés Quackity and Sapnap. Is everything alright?” He closes his eyes, leaning into Mason? James? for the sole reason of not tipping over in his nausea. “Take your time, it’s okay.”_

_It comes back to him, slowly but surely. It comes back to him, in blurs of colors and fleeting images and bundles of emotions. It comes back to him in the intricacies, in the subtleties of small gestures and unspoken affections before the grandeur of large gestures and extravagant dates. Q… Sa… Quackity and Sapnap. That’s right. Yeah, yeah that’s right. His fiancés. They’ve been engaged for a while now, been together for even longer that. How could he forget? How could he forget them at all, even? He’s such a failure. He’s such a horrible person. He’s such a…_

_“I… I’m sorry, I don’t…” He starts, but his voice dies in his throat before he knows what to say. He doesn’t… He… Before they can say anything, he turns swiftly on his heel despite their protests. He runs away, nearly stumbling as he pushes past them and out the door to make his way towards the new library far away. He runs away, locking the door of the building behind him and slipping into his quarters and locking the door to that as well. He runs away, crumbling to the floor and putting his head in his hands as tears fall to the ground beneath him to remain unseen._

_He runs away, because it’s all that he’s ever been good for._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont mind me im just willfully ignoring canon,, just wait for the next tales stream to completely obliterate any semblance of plausibility my theories have
> 
> but yes shit is getting real and i am not kind jkshfdhakg i hope you enjoy it regardless :DD


	10. I'm Tired.

I’m tired.

I’m so fucking tired. I don’t want to travel anymore. It’s too much, it’s too taxing, it’s nigh unbearable at this point. I don’t want this. I never asked for this anyway, to be subject to such a cruel fate and have no escape whatsoever. I didn’t fucking ask for this, and yet I got it. I got it for no real reason. Out of all the people on this godforsaken server, it had to be me.

What do I have to offer, anyway? I’m just some regular guy. I’m not exactly good at… anything. I have no specialty at all, but I’m not some jack of trades either. I can’t fight, I’m too clumsy to be stealthy… All I really have is my intellect and maybe charisma, but even in that there are clearly others better than me. I have no real redeeming qualities in comparison to all these other people. Why me? Why not someone more resilient, like Phil? Why not someone stronger, like Technoblade? Why not someone more persistent, like Tommy? Why not someone smarter, like Tubbo? Why not someone who isn’t just a mess of mediocre qualities with no real drive to improve in any aspect of life?

Why not someone who isn’t a total failure?

Well, there’s nothing much I can do about it if I’ve been handed that role. Couldn’t I at least have gotten a way out of it, at least? Like, I sure wish there was a time out button somewhere. I sure wish there was a way to clock out and take my well-deserved break. I sure wish I had proper working hours and a flexible schedule. I sure wish the universe sent a representative for me to negotiate with, somehow. I sure wish I was given some contract with all the full details of what exactly this time travelling business entails. I’m not quite sure I signed up for memory problems, hallucinations, and endless self-doubt.

Just what exactly will it take to free me from the shackles of time, to loosen the chains that bind me so?

I don’t even have the option to take a break. I have no control over it. I’m almost entirely at the mercy of whatever higher being is up there, if those do exist in the first place. I could drop the projects at any moment, leave the books in some old chest somewhere and never touch them again and still end up getting pulled back into a new travel once the universe demands it. I could mess up as much as possible, could wreak as much chaos and havoc as I wished and still end up forced to fix my own mistakes. I could do whatever, I have done whatever, and yet I would still be pulled back to the time-space conundrum without fail.

I know I said I wouldn’t back down, but is it really so bad if I just want a moment’s respite?

It’s so cold. It’s so cold, and I hate it. The inbetween, the portal, the numbing emptiness of my heart. Everything I touch feels like ice creeping up from frostbitten fingertips, everything I see feels like it’s permanently clouded by misty haze and rampant blizzards. Every breath I take feels like frigid spikes pressing into my lungs, every step feels like brittle floe spreading out from the soles of gelid shoes. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t in such a fervid snowstorm, with incessant hail biting at my skin like sharp icicles digging deep into me.

Whenever I’m forced to travel, a feeling of coldness washes over me before bathing me in particles of green and purple light and taking me away to times and universes I honestly couldn’t care less about. I don’t like it, I never did and I never will. The cold reminds me of solitude. The cold reminds me of nights spent alone, trembling and shivering and with no one else by my side. The cold reminds me that I’m going far, far away, that I’m going there alone, that I’m staying there for an unknown amount of time against my own will. The cold reminds me that I’m slowly losing my memories, slowly losing myself, slowly losing all I hold dear to me. The cold reminds me of the inevitable, of the uncaring, of the unforgiving.

I miss the warmth. I miss fire, and the comfort it brings. I miss Quackity and Sapnap and all their ancestors and descendants and reincarnations. I miss the captivating flame that draws me closer to them, that gives me temporary comfort in a time of distress, that makes the cold world around me melt into nothingness as I can pretend for a second that everything is alright. ~~~~

I can’t trust anything or anyone anymore. It seems like every timeline I go through, there will be someone out to get me. It seems like in my main timeline, people are ready to jump me at any minute. My one safe space is this claustrophobic quarters filled with futile reminders of the responsibility I’ve learned to loath so much. My only other safe space is a sentient fucking castle that most likely hides malicious intent behind empty promises and shallow baits. Whose messages am I even supposed to believe at this point? I can’t even trust myself. My memories are almost entirely gone, slipping from my grasp despite all my attempts to contain them in written words on paper. I’ve pushed everyone else away, because there’s no possible way for them to even comprehend a sliver of what I’ve gone through, of what I’ve been going through for who knows how long already. I have nothing left; I have no one left.

What a cruel fate you’ve handed me, huh, universe? Are you happy now?

.

.

.

If nothing else… Don’t forget yourself.

-

_Everything is silent._

_Everything is silent, and he hates it. It’s far too silent, far too lifeless and dead and indicative of a lack of activity. It’s far too silent, far too similar to the hollow atmosphere he always gets at the end of his bloodies travels when he is the only one left alive to view the resulting carnage with his very own eyes. It’s far too silent, far too reminiscent of the quiet halls of the colorless castle and the empty void and the prison visit and he hates it hates it̵̗̣̓͝ h̵a̴t̷e̵s̸ ̴i̵t̶ ḧ̸̘́͂a̷̛̦̔͜ţ̶̠͊̎ē̶̫͑š̴̯̋ ̵̝̬̌i̵͆̚͜t̸̞̦́́ h̴̢͍͎̐ä̸͓̪̾͝t̴̲̭͐͗̚ě̶̬͍͠͝͠s̷̱̣͆̚ ̵̤̹̞͖̈́̀i̸͔̓t̵̠͇̺̰̄̌ h̶̦̝̳̤̣̻͎͜ā̶͇͓͙͕̉̚͜t̴̳̲̻͔̱̪̾͊̐̄̽͂̚ͅe̶͉͉͊͂̃͝s̴͍͍̪̠̩͉̏̾̀ ̸̛̤͍͍̟̰͍̋͑ǐ̴̺͙̐̽̚͜t̴̻̥̖͈̍̔̂̽́̓̓ ḩ̶̡̩͚͖̟̹͕͓̝̯̏̃a̶̡̨̛͕͍̗̪͈̠̻̦̜͛͑̂t̶̡̢͈͖̼͇̮͎͍̬̋̈ę̵̬͍̲͍͓͚͉̼͓̼̂͒ș̵̬͎̭͕̥̝̉͂̏͆͋̓̀̕ ̴̨͕̖̣̠̳̻͖̺͙̠̍͂͊͆̈́̔̕͠i̶̟̯͓̠͋̎̑̏̅t̷͓̽͆_

_He screams into the empty walls of his quarters, curling up into a ball on the floor as his hands tangle into his hair and grip far too tight. Tears flow down his cheeks as he kicks everything away, scattering piles of paper and torn down posters and all evidence of his travels as if they would cease to exist. He bangs a fist against the mushroom block floor, audibly sobbing as the impact is more forceful than he anticipated. He’s so tired, so so tired and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know anything anymore, he doesn’t know he doesn’t know he doesn’t kno−_

_“Karl! Please let us in!”_

_“We’re worried, we’re so worried about you. Please be okay, please…”_

_There’s an incessant pounding at the trapdoor, and he barely registers it in the sudden wave of exhaustion that washes over him. He can’t even muster the energy to look up beyond the first few steps of the ladder, there’s no way he’ll be able to respond coherently. A bitter chuckle slips out of poison tipped lips, words dying in his throat as he barely manages a sad smile to go with his pitiful state of being. He’s sprawled out on the floor, with his limbs weak and barely functioning and the weight of all his baggage too heavy to carry on his fragile back, with his skin paler than the paper he writes on and his eye bags darker than the ink he writes with._

_It’s so cold._

_His eyes widen as his addled mind finally catches up to the implications of the familiar sensation. He screams once again, whether in frustration or anguish or exasperation he doesn’t know anymore. ~~Please, please…~~ He feels it before he sees it, feels the familiar floaty bubble and the small tug at his core from whatever the universe had decided to give him today. Except this time, he’s pulling against it instead of letting himself be pulled._

_“No, no, no, no, NO! STOP! DON’T TAKE ME BACK ANYMORE!” He screams out to the sky, or at least the barely lit ceiling of his quarters. He struggles to sit up, pointing a single trembling accusatory finger at the mushroom surface slowly fading into the nothingness of the void as the signature green and purple swirls dance around him mockingly. Spirals, spirals, spirals, spirals, he’s going fucking insane at the mere image of the swirly pattern depicting his looping fate. “I DON’T WANT THIS, I HATE IT I HATE IT LET ME GO!”_

_“Please…” He pleads in a whisper as fleeting as his memories, one last teardrop slipping out of fluttering eyelids and freezing on his skin like a diamond borne out of immeasurable pain._

_Except the universe is cruel to everyone, and he is no exception to its unwarranted wrath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaa sorry this chapter was a bit later than usual! my classes were unusually jam-packed today skjfshd im at least proud of myself for getting this done within the day as per schedule hahaksjfdh
> 
> anyway, how we feeling about today's tales episode huh? personally i think the twins and glatt are the best part
> 
> i, for one, was ready to have all of my theories thrown away along with the plausibility of the canonicity of this fic's plot but i was so very pleasantly surprised to see how some of them even got confirmed. both chapters about the inbetween are roughly accurate to canon, even down to the smiley face motif i kept bringing up :00
> 
> so technically i ended up calling out how creepy the inbetween is, along with the insinuation that there's some kind of threat present in it :DD im pretty proud of myself for that honestly aaaa is that bad?? skjfhgd
> 
> anyway, i'm sure you can tell by the chapter count that this fic is coming to a close. we've gone over the major plot points already, so there's just a bit left to tie off loose ends and hand you the open ending :DD not to worry, this won't be the last i'll ever write of time traveler karl and i definitely want to explore his descent to madness from an outside perspective (particularly, sapnap and quackity's) so stay tuned for that!!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this, thanks for reading :DD


	11. ㅤ

_It’s hidden well, tucked beneath the leaves of a potted plant in the corner. Still, the telltale umber of leather-bound sheets of paper bound into a book doesn’t escape vision. After one spends countless timelines surrounded by books, writing them and reading them a million times over, it only makes sense the object’s likeness would be burned into the back of eyelids._

FIND A WAY INTO THE PORTAL

_It’s caged, trapped behind bars of iron that block any attempts to get past. The swirling purple threshold bordered by pitch black obsidian calls to those around it, whispers of promised answers and beckons lost souls to come closer. It seems warm and welcoming. Fingers curl around the barriers helplessly as the obstructive metal make it impossible to come close, to satiate curiosity and follow the tug from the depths of being towards the supposed portal._

IT IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU KNOW

_It appears twice, one at the foot of a spiral staircase and another in the crevice behind a pillar. Nothing escapes alert eyes, especially not one of the only splashes of color in the palace with pristine white walls and faraway marble ceilings. Steps are soundless as they creep towards the book, an arm reaching out to grab it from where it’s haphazardly shoved in the gap between the pillar and the wall._

GO UNDER THE TREE

_The water is freezing cold. In fact, the air has grown colder and colder as distance from the main trail increases. A steady sensation of frost blankets sensitive skin, biting at it like shards of hail raining from the sky. Persistence courses through the veins like blood, pushing limbs past exhausted limits to slowly make way towards the bottom of the basin and into the secret room under the tree. Gasps slip past blue lips in search of oxygen, shaky breaths echoing off the walls in the deafening silence. Nails dig into the floor as trembling hands pull the shivering body in a pitiful crawl towards the next book._

YOU CAN’T AFFORD NOT TO

_An intrigued gaze skims through blunt words than only confirm deeply rooted suspicions. Relief sets into the core at the solidarity, warming the cold from deep within. The implications still require deeper thought, but that’s for another day. All the thinking could be saved for later, in the locked quarters of the underground of a library surrounded by the rest of the information gathered from previous trips. For now, progress has been made and that’s more than enough._

… don’t stray from the path…

_Huh?_

Don’t stray from the path.

_It speaks in an array of wither roses, deep dark and decaying petals fluttering angrily in the absence of a breeze. It speaks in a cold that is far too unbearable, pressing against the body from every side and seeping into every pore to root itself deep into the core. It speaks in books filled with one repeating line, filling every page with that single command. It speaks… and is promptly ignored._

STOP

_It speaks, and it refuses to be ignored. It refuses to let its words go unheard, to let the ink of its papers etch itself into every corner of the brain. It refuses to let anyone stray from the path, it refuses to let anyone even d̵r̵e̴a̵m̸ of escape._

DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH

_It’s loud and demanding, unbearably so. Palms cover ringing ears, but the noise doesn’t even muffle. Is it from within? Is it a mere fraction of cruel imagination?_

DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH DON’T STRAY FROM THE PATH

_._

_._

_._

**JUST LISTEN**

_It hurts. Pain is no stranger, but is still no doubt unpleasant._

****

**J̷̢̖͈̗̻̙̮̩̩̒̄̈́̿̔͊̽́͘͠͝Ų̸̛̰͔̥͕̠̘̰̞͉̹͔͆̽͋̊̆̑͒͗͐͝Ş̶̨̡̯̳̠͕̣͇̺̳̾̽̑̀͑̾̑̓̕T̵̝͈̝͕̹̱̪͌͑̋͂͂̒̍ ̴̺̬̲͖̦͙̼̗̄͐̄̊̑S̴͚͕͚̞̖͔͔̗̰̦̹̓̄̆̆̿̀́Ţ̸͙̹͈̪̭̲̣͍͇̑͂̔̿̑̚I̶̢̪̘̞̖͖̳̩̳̭͆̿̎͊̾͒̿̌͋̍̋̽͗͛͘C̶̡̤͕̥̒̏̔̿͗̇͜Ķ̶̼̑͊̈́̄̾̉̿͗̒̿͂̚͜ ̷̤̳͎͔͉̬͎͙̬͈͓̓̍̂̅̈́̒ͅŢ̷̡̢͕̥͇̰̤͙̐͠͝Ȏ̵͕̯̻̓̑̈́̚͘ ̶͇͉͔̱̍͛̇͛̃̈́͠T̷̘̬͔̜͂̈́̑͆H̸̳͙̲̤̻͎̯̰͕̐̓̐͐͘Ë̶͔̙̳̙̼̺͎̞̪̣͉͈̻́̈́͋͛̿̓͘͜ ̴̺͎̍͊̽͐̀̂͑̈́̋́̚͝P̴͔̦͓̰͖̥̿̒̆̃̄̋͋̀͗̐̚Ạ̷͈͈̬̺̳̐͛̉͂͗Ţ̶̧̠̥̲̄́̅́͛̇H̷̡̪̤͚̪̱̑͛͂̈** ͔̤̭͍̱

****

_It’s cold. Cold… cold… cold… cold… cold… cold… he hates cold he hates cold he hates cold he hates cold he… hates… it…_

**I warned you, Karl.**

**:]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :]


	12. ...

_Everything is so dark and quiet._

_He sits up from where he was lying on the floor, nausea overcoming his senses for a moment as he tries to regain his bearings. Shit, he sat up too fast as evidenced by the black spots suddenly crowding his limited vision. He feels so very tired, so very cold and so very miserable. He can’t tell if the ache in his bones are from simple exhaustion or actual injury. He needs to check himself over, if only to identify what’s wrong with him at the moment. His eyes squint as they try to adjust to the lighting, or lack thereof in the room._

_Who was he? What was he doing here?_

_There was little time to ponder that, so he just tried to make out his environment to see what he should do from there. He can make out several posters on the walls, some torn down and left to crumple on the floor along with a mess of scattered ripped out pages. He can’t see much in the blue candlelight, nor can he hear much other than the occasional flickering embers and rustle of paper. The aroma of leather-bound books and rich mahogany fills his nose, pairing with the earthy scent of mushroom blocks making up the entire surrounding area. He flexes his toes and fingers just to see if he can move them, and his fingertips run over the leather cover of a book on his lap. Huh, he just noticed that was there._

_He lifts it up so he can put it under the light, making note of the spiral design on the cover and just how worn the book really is. It looks like it’s about to fall apart ~~just like him~~. Out of both curiosity and having nothing better to do, he opens up the book and reads as best as he could. It looks like some sort of diary or journal, signed off by someone named Karl. He can’t understand what the original author is talking about, and it’s only made worse by how the entries descend into nonsensical rambles ever so often. For some reason, as he skims towards the last few pages, he begins to feel a strong sensation of **wrongness** rise from the depths of his being. He has to put the book down for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat and putting his head in his hands while waiting for the discomfort to subside._

_He has an abundance of questions and a severe lack of answers. Why does the book feel so significant? Why do the people on the posters look so familiar, and yet fill him with dread? What is this room in the first place? Why doesn’t he know how he ended up here? Why can’t he remember that? Why can’t he remember who he is? ~~Why did he fail why did he fail why did he fail why did he f−~~_

_He jumps when the trapdoor on the ceiling bursts open and interrupts his thought process, making light and noise flood into the dilapidated room. He can hear hushed conversation from above, and sees the orange glow of a torch creeping onto the inky darkness on the walls. He can hear someone beginning to descend the ladder that he just noticed was there, and he freezes in place. There are tears in his eyes, and he doesn’t know why they’re there._

_“Karl? Are you there?” There comes a soft voice, filling his ears and leaving him with a sense of somber nostalgia. This, too, is oddly familiar although it’s a distinctly different sensation from before. This sense of familiarity feels much sweeter, much lighter and happier and easier to swallow despite the small hints of bitterness that seem to follow him wherever he goes. He relaxes ever so slightly, mostly because he doesn’t know if he can live in so much fear ~~anymore.~~_

_“Hey, are you okay?” The voice comes again, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even know if the question is addressed to him in the first place. He doesn’t even remember his own name, so he has no way of knowing if he’s the one who should respond to that in the first place. For all he knows, it could be addressed to the person standing right in front of him._

_It’s a man wearing some kind of armor with a white bandana wrapped around his forehead, holding a torch with one hand and a sword on the other. He only stares at him, surprised when the person suddenly freezes in place and drops his sword when they lock eyes. Within the next heartbeat, he’s being pulled into a chest as arms wrap around him protectively. Gauntleted fingers run through his hair soothingly, and he finds himself relaxing into the touch. It feels almost instinctive to curl into the gesture, and if he lets a few tears slip from his eyes and run down his cheeks then no one has to know._

_That’s strange. The metal of this person’s armor is cool against his skin, and yet he only feels warmth bubbling up from inside of him._

_“KARL!” The person sobs out, hugging him even tighter and pulling him up so that his chin rests as comfortably as it can on the armored shoulder. He doesn’t mind, and the person trails off into rambles. “You’re safe, you’re okay, oh I’m so happy, I…”_

_“What happened to you?” The voice from before is back, but this time it’s a lot closer. He looks up to see another man, this time dressed in more casual wear and donning a beanie that sits on a messy head of dark hair. He doesn’t know why this person also has tears welling up in his eyes, he hates seeing him cry. Wait, where did that sentiment come from?_

_Who… are they?_

_They’re so familiar, and they both give him sentiments of indescribable joy laced with a somber tone for some reason. They were people he didn’t know he had missed so badly, these were feelings he didn’t know he had been searching for. And yet… all of that doesn’t change that he doesn’t know them._

_“Who are you?” He voices as much, wincing at the rasp in his voice. It’s pitiful, sure, but still not as pitiful as the silence that befalls upon them. He almost wishes he didn’t speak._

_“Karl?” The one with the beanie whispers, barely audible._

_“I…” The one with the bandana breaks the hug, and he wishes he didn’t let go. Hands come up to his shoulders and grip firmly, grounding him as he was looked over with eyes of a flame he had known long ago. Wait, what? What was he talking about now? Before he can dwell on it, he’s broken out of his thoughts once again. “Hey, Karl, this isn’t funny. We were really worried, you can stop now.”_

_“What do you mean?” He tilts his head, genuinely confused. “I don’t remember… I don’t remember anything.”_

_“What?” The way the soft voice cracks breaks his heart for some reason. He doesn’t know why he feels so strongly for two strangers he had never seen before. Had he?_

_“I just woke up here, with this on me.” Their eyes fall to the book in his lap as his fingers run over the spiral in the cover. Something inside screams at him to hide it way, to pull it to his chest and never let it see the light of day. He promptly ignores it, finding that the newfound warmth in his heart has melted the cold that prevented him from moving ~~for so long~~. He picks the book up and presents it to them, giving them a small smile before he says it._

_“I think you should read it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaa we've reached the end of this!! this was a great journey im glad we all embarked on. i tried out a lot of new styles of writing here, and i think they turned out really well. this was my first linear ongoing fic, and the concept of a real deadline was an interesting form of pressure on me honestly. of course, i didn't mind, but it was a whole different kind of experience from just writing oneshots :00
> 
> i know we left off at an open ending, and that's honestly how i planned it from the start. however, this isn't the last i'll be writing of time traveler karl or even of this fic's universe. it's indefinite as of now because i have other wips i want to do as well, but i'll definitely be writing something from sapnap and quackity's points of view eventually. im thinking karl's decline from an outside perspective, and some sort of sequel maybe. it's all unplanned as of now, but i'll put all future works related to this in a series so don't worry :DD
> 
> now, onto my own ramblings!! karl's descent into madness was particularly interesting to write about both from a first person perspective and a third person perspective. it's a slow decline that all comes to head at the climax, and i think that's a pretty standard progression of events. it's basic, but it works at least. of course, it's not all up in your face. there are some less obvious details ive sneaked in, along with more literary devices. here we go :DD
> 
> 1\. the most obvious things you'll probably notice is the chapter titles and signatures at the end of the entries. karl slowly forgets how many diary entries it's been, and at some point he just entirely gives up on counting them. its the same thing with his name at the end. at some point he questions his name, then forgets his last name, then just doesn't sign it at all. again, these are all just very subtle ways of expressing the decline in his memory over the course of this fic
> 
> 2\. an established theme i bring up often is warmth and cold. karl in this sees warmth as positive and cold as negative, and that's an integral part to a lot of the descriptions in this. for example, quackity and sapnap are often associated with fire and affection meanwhile the inbetween and (to an certain extent) the quarters are associated with ice and loneliness. if we go by that, this line: "That’s strange. The metal of this person’s armor is cool against his skin, and yet he only feels warmth bubbling up from inside of him." suggests a more helpful resolution because the warmth sapnap provides breaks through the cold sensation :DD
> 
> 3\. im not sure if you noticed, but the narratives at the end of each chapter never refer to karl by name. i always use pronouns instead of his actual name, and from the beginning that establishes the inevitability of karl forgetting his own name. it's also a subtle way to illustrate his self-doubt and self-deprecation, because even in a third-person narrative that follows him, he isn't addressed by name. only quackity, sapnap, and all their previous versions are given a name. this is also suggesting that since he inherently views himself unworthy of being their equal and undeserving of a name, he just forgets it. im not sure if my explanation makes sense, but yeah.
> 
> 4\. while we're on the topic of narratives, the narrative in the eleventh chapter is particularly interesting. at that point, the narrative doesn't even refer to karl until the very end. i don't use his name nor any pronouns, and sentences with actions are structured in such a way that we don't even refer to him specifically and instead use body parts to express it. it's made to be particularly disconnected, and puts even more of a distance between the events in the story and the reader. this is supposed to be an experience we can't understand, and that's why i made it so disconnected in the narrative sense. it's only at the end, when karl is suffering, that we finally get some semblance of a connection. 
> 
> i think it all turned out great in the end hehe tell me what you think in the comments :00 i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did, and thanks for reading once again :DD


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